


Letters to the Prince

by EvangelineFinch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 05:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17380715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvangelineFinch/pseuds/EvangelineFinch
Summary: Harry, wracked with guilt due to Snape's death, attempts to reconcile his feelings by writing nightly letters in a book he knows Snape will never be able to read. Or will he?





	Letters to the Prince

Harry sat at his desk, again. The burgundy rug felt rough and uncomfortable beneath his bare feet and he shifted in his wooden chair. Silently, he cursed Ginny for picking out such a scratchy and uncomfortable rug, despite his protests.This had become habit now, escaping to his office. Surrounded by his books, he felt safe and comfortable. Ginny was sleeping soundly in the other room and a storm was rolling in on the dark horizon. Lightning flashed as Harry gazed up to watch through the windows. Rain began to patter lightly against the glass pane. Lightning struck again, a bit closer now, and briefly illuminated the night. Just as quickly as it came, all was dark again. 

Harry rocked back in his chair, rubbed his palms against his eyes, and sighed. He was tired. So very tired. But sleep never came easy to him-- not even during his days at the Dursleys. He recalled his little cupboard under the stairs, how hellish those sleepless nights were. How thankful he'd been to be moved to a room upstairs. He may have still been locked in and isolated, but there, he had a window, and even a barred window still gave some sense of a connection to the outside world. Back then, he would lie awake and stare out from his little window on sleepless nights. Looking at the faded stars, difficult to see through the street-lamp induced light pollution of Privet Drive, he felt comforted. Faded they may be, but they were his stars, nonetheless. In a world where nothing was truly his, the night, the stars and all the silence it brought, it was truly the closest thing to having ownership of something he could imagine. All of what made the daytime irritating, noisy, and painful was asleep, and the night belonged to Harry, alone.

Lost in thought, between thunderclaps, Harry was suddenly startled by the sound of footsteps. Judging by the light pitter-pat, it was Ginny on her nightly bathroom run. Realizing this, he relaxed a bit. It's funny, Harry thought, that he could still be so jumpy over something as innocuous as simple footsteps after all this time. After a few moments, he heard the loo flush, the faucet run, and the sound of Ginny's feet against the hardwood floor, lightly pitter-pattering past his office, back to the bedroom. She hadn't bothered to stop in to check on Harry, she knew better now that when Harry was in his office at night, he was not to be disturbed. Nevertheless, Harry waited for the sound of the bedroom door to click shut, and the familiar sounds of the creaky bedframe as Ginny wormed her way back under the covers and back to sleep. When there came no further noise from the bedroom, Harry rose and walked softly to his bookshelf in the far corner. He took an emerald green, leather-back book from the 2nd shelf down in his hand and casted a quiet "revelio" over it. 

Harry walked back to his desk, book in hand, and sat back in his wooden chair. He looked out the window once more, the storm was in full swing now and, by lamplight, Harry opened the green book to the first page which, in neatly scrawled letters, read "Letters to the Prince".  
Harry flipped absentmindedly through the pages, each one was dated and contained a letter addressed "To the Prince" with his name signed at the bottom of each. He was almost finished filling the book. There weren't many letters left to write now, and not much left to say that he hadn't already said. Lately, almost all of the letters had begun with some variation of the words "I wish." But what more could he say, or think, really? Truly, the more he learned about the man, the more he found himself wishing for the impossible-- mainly, that things could have been different. 

Harry casted a whispered "Alohomora" and with a click, opened the bottom cabinet of his desk drawer. From the drawer, he drew a rather large bottle of brandy, of which, he took a very large swig and slammed it down on his desk with an accidental noisy thud that made Ginny stir for a moment. These days, he's not sure why he'd even bothered to keep his bottles hidden under lock and key, it wasn't like Ginny didn't know by now. With as much as he had been drinking these past few weeks, he was sure it would take days for the stink of it to fade, not that he could ever go that long without drinking, lately. These days, drinking had become a daily occurrence. 

Grabbing a quill from the box on the ledge of his desk, he sighed heavily, dipped the tip delicately into the inkwell and turned to the next blank page in the green book. Taking another large sip of brandy, Harry pressed the tip of the quill to the parchment and began his nightly ritual. In black ink, near the top of the page he jotted down the date and, after glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner, the time. Then slowly, carefully, in delicate, curly letters, he scrawled "To the Prince."

Ginny awoke that morning alone in her bed. The misty morning light was peeking through the curtains, irritating her. Irritation had become routine for Ginny these days-- loneliness, as well. Against her better judgement, she climbed out of her bed, burrowed her feet a pair of slippers and wandered toward Harry's office. She creaked the old oak door open slightly, and found him slumped over his desk, snoring loudly. A large bottle of brandy was beside him on the floor, accompanied by a tiny puddle of amber liquid. She knelt down before his face. His undereyes were purple, his trademark messy hair, speckled with grey. He appeared to have aged at least 20 years, though they had only left Hogwarts 5 years ago. Under the salt and pepper stubble, she barely recognized her husband. He had changed so much since The Battle of Hogwarts, inside and out. Her love for him had changed as well through the years. There was still a sense of concern, perhaps, but the lack of reciprocal love throughout the years had cooled any burning passion she once harbored for the drunken mess of a man before her. 

Ginny picked up the bottle of brandy and set it quietly on the desk. It was then she noticed, There was a book under Harry's hand. She caught glimpses of some of the words scrawled upon the page. "Grieving", "sadness", heartbreak", "regret". Her interest was piqued. She reached for the book and attempted, as quietly as she could to slide it from under his hand. Harry shot up immediately, with a gasp and a crazed look of panic in his eye, he went for his wand. In a flash, the tip was pointed squarely under Ginny's chin. One hand was white-knuckled holding tightly to his wand, the other, grasping the collar of Ginny's shirt, pulling her close to him. The wand tip was digging into her chin, hard. Harry was panicked but his hand was steady and he had murder in his eyes.  
"HARRY. WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME ARE YOU DOING?!"

Harry began to shake violently. Realization had set in. His face contorted into a kind of grimace. Tears had welled up in his reddened eyes. Dropping his wand to the floor, his body followed and Harry crumpled on his knees to the floor and sobbed.


End file.
